Teasing Master (AKA Sebastian's only journal)
by Finnian4ever
Summary: "Hmmm...what method of teasing shall I employ today to get my master adorably riled up and begging for relief' an erotic semi-drabble of journal entries written by the butler to the house of Phantomhive, describing the daily teasing regiment he sets up for his master.
1. Chapter 1

(Ok, so my idea here is to post one entry a day like a real journal until I run out of teasing implements. I have two entries here to start...any suggestions as to teasing methods would be welcome too as this is a heavy endeavor, thanks!)

November 8, 1888

I have never recorded any part of my life, considering it useless to do so. The events of the past few days, however, have urged me to write them down for my own amusement. My young master has recently realized that I am handsome and quite able to give him incredible physical pleasure. It was discovered accidentally, of course, when he was taking his dinner one night two weeks ago. It was snowing all day so I made sure to prepare him warm and comforting dishes. He was enjoying them, from what I could tell, when Meyrin made her entrance. Through a series of bumblings, the maid managed to spill young master's steamed potatoes into his lap. Once he had stopped staring at his trousers in shock, he began cursing about how hot the mess was. Of course it was my duty to clean him off privately. Through that process he developed an erection from my attention to his trousers. One event led to another and I helped him release with my hand. From that instant on I made it a daily routine to show him how much I could please him. I decided to embrace a teasing routine, to test just how far I could push my haughty little lord. Herein will lie the record of my methods. . .

November 10, 1888

Young master woke rather early today, almost an hour before I usually have to drag him out of bed. He summoned me to his room and I instantly saw that he was troubled by a morning erection. Being the kind-hearted butler that I am, I offered to help him on the condition that he let me go about it any way I chose. He agreed as long as the outcome would be his release. Our deal was struck, and so I positioned him on the edge of the bed, his legs spread, leaning back on his hands so they would not interfere. I stood before him and looked down at the healthy pink cock standing up from beneath his unbuttoned nightshirt. I could tell that the intensity of my quiet observation was unnerving him, although he was excited. After I enjoyed a few more moments of this, I produced a long soft feather from my pocket. Ciel eyed it suspiciously, and when he questioned me on where I procured it, I simply told him I had my ways, which was all the answer he required at the time. I then brushed it against the base of his swollen cock. He twitched and his cock jumped. I chuckled and continued to drag the feather up and down his cock, while the boy's legs began to shake and he squeezed his eyes shut. The brushing touches were sending thrills up that virgin body. He love it, I could tell by the way that he struggled to keep from thrusting his hips. I'm sure it tickled him delightfully. I fluttered the tip of the feather against the head of his cock, and he made an endearing whimper, his slit leaking a bit of his excitement. I produced yet another feather and moved to kneel in front of him rather than stand. I began to apply the new feather to his sac as well, delighted when he jerked at the light touch. I teased him for long, unbearable moments, watching him clench the sheets and bite his lip, and the top feather grew more and more damp. Finally I saw that he was at his limit, and I began rubbing him firmly, until he released in my hand.


	2. Chapter 2

November 13, 1888

Today young master managed to get enough paint on his hands during his art lesson to require my assistance. As I began scrubbing his hands with linseed oil to remove the oil-based paint, be began to breath quicker. I noticed at once that he was hard. I commented on how easy it was for him to be aroused by my presence, of course he snapped at me, regardless of how true my statement was. When I suggested that he let me relieve him he promptly blushed, but then nodded. I finished cleaning his hands before I sat him on the tall round artist stool that sat before the painting he had butchered. I stood behind him, supporting his back with my body as I unfastened his trousers. He leaned back into me gratefully as I pulled out his hard member. It looked even more pink than the last time, resting against the dark fabric of his trousers. I'm sure I surprised him when I did not begin stroking him. Instead I picked a clean paintbrush from the jar beside the canvas. He understood at once what I was going to do, and he squirmed on the stool, holding onto my arms tightly. I grinned and brushed the soft bristles against his balls first, setting his cock twitching as I painted invisible patterns on his heated flesh. He whispered my name, reaching to take himself in hand. I stopped him with my free hand and he moaned as I brushed the bristles back and forth quickly against his shaft, up and down. The fast motion was intoxicating to him, despite the fact that it was teasing in nature. I slid my free hand along his thigh as he began to grip my arm instead of his own member. This added just a bit of flare to my teasing. I let the brush flick against the tender head of his cock, and he cried out as though in pain. It felt so good to him, I could tell, and I increased the pace of my brushing motions until he was shuddering in my arms, melting into a trembling puddle of want in my hands. Only then did I take him in hand, squeeze him, and stroke him to climax. He was so darling when he slumped back against me, sated, but horrified once again. He has still to become accustomed to pleasure like this on a daily basis. Hopefully I shall help him toss his English nobleman's pride aside.


	3. Chapter 3

November 17, 1888

My young master is quite the stubborn youth. For the last several days he refused to let me touch him for any reason. I believe the guilt spun into every young boy in this infernal time period began to gnaw at him. This did not deter me in the least. I knew it was only a matter of time before his body cried out for the pleasure that I could give it. I was correct, of course. When I came to fetch my young lord for bed, he was in the library reading. Before I even opened the door I could smell the scent of his desire, and when I did I saw him palming his erection through his trousers while holding up a book with his free hand. He was still looking at the book, but not really reading, I could tell. His face was drawn into such an expression of pleasure that I could feel my heart jump. I entered the room smoothly, reveling in the startled, angry, embarrassed fazes that come over his face. He demands to know what I was doing sneaking about so quietly without knocking. I informed him that I had knocked softly, but that he must have been too absorbed in his...ahem...reading, to have heard it. He frowned at me when I came closer, neatly plucking the book from his hand and placing it beside him on the table. Without another word I simply knelt before him and opened his trousers. He tried to protest, but it was an extremely half-hearted effort, and before he could try harder I had his pretty, flushed cock out for my eyes to drink in. He opened his legs for me without a second thought, and I admired him, inhaling his sweet scent. I had kept an item or two upon my person for this exact situation, hoping that I would not have to wait long to use them. I pulled from my inner pocket a long string of pearls. My young master looked dumbfounded, as I had hoped he would. I grinned, holding up the pearls at each end to show him the long graceful waterfall of the precious beads. I told him that this was something he had most likely never thought of himself. When I let the dangling strand of pearls brush over the base of his cock, and then dragged them up and down. He shivered as the smooth sides of the beads pleased him. I dropped them lower to tickle his balls, and he lifted his hips a bit so that more cool pearls would drop against that area. I lowered most of the strand so that they pooled over his balls and around his cock. I made sure to tell him how they suited him so well and looked beautiful against his rosy skin. He only sighed, biting hi bottom lip as I lifted the pearls slowly away. I then began a delicate process, wrapping that single strand around, and around his upright cock. He moved his hips suggestively every few seconds, but I didn't really need him to sit utterly still for this. Well the entirety of his length was wrapped with lovely pearls, I took hold of the extra leads at the top, and the bottom, and began to pull at the top. The strand began to move, circling and circling his sensitive flesh as it was pulled. He whined, biting into his hand at the teasing pleasure. The trail of pearls climbed higher and higher up his cock until it was in danger of coming off, that's when I stopped and reversed the slide of the pearls by pulling on the lower lead. Now the smooth-sided pearls were crawling down his cock. He loved it, tossing his head and gripping at the chair armrests for the several moments that I teased him like this. Finally he was panting, covered in a sheen of sweat and demanding I do more. Never one to disobey my master, I reached into my pocket once again and took out a vial of oil. His eyes were so innocent as he gazed at it, trying to determine why I would have it. I took great pleasure in watching those eyes widen with realization as I popped the cork off and tipped the small glass vial over his cock. The oil ran over his flesh, and coated the pearls completely. He cried out, shuddering through his entire body as he resisted the urge to take himself in hand and jerk his hips. I did not want to tease him for too much longer so I once more took hold of the ends of the strand of pearls, and once more pulled the upper one. Now the beads ran, slick and fast, up his cock, and he groaned, panting, squirming, arching up into the incredible sensation of the smooth, slippery orbs squeezing his cock and circling around and around him. I picked up the pace, pulling first one end then the other as quickly as I could. The sensation was fierce, smooth and slick and yet harsh at the same how, and I knew he was close from this alone. I made sure to tighten my grip on the pearls at the head so as to increase his pleasure. He bucked and called my name, and then I began pulling faster, and faster, until he spurt forth his white relief against my hands. As he lay slumped in his chair and panting, I made sure to remind him that he would most likely never look at pearls in quite the same way.


	4. Chapter 4

November 18, 1888

I have to admit I enjoy being cruel to my little morsel of a master at times. Today he kept dropping less-than subtle hints that he wanted me to pleasure him again. He cared not that we were in the midst of lessons, or even a meal. He would let his fingers trail over my wrist when I handed him a cup of tea, or he would suggest that perhaps he needed something to help him relax because the day was so stressful. I knew what he meant, and he knew that I did as well. This made it so much sweeter when I would simply smile and advise him to pace himself if he wanted to be able relax. He did not like that much, and would scowl at me, before dismissing me coldly. It would only take an hour or two for him to thaw out, and try again. This went on until I was preparing him for bed, by which time he was so frustrated with my game that he literally seized my hand, placed it between his legs, and ordered me to touch him. Of course I could not defy a direct command, and I had no desire to either. I assured him that I would give him the most pleasurable of experiences. To which he affirmed that yes, I would, if I knew what was good for me. I had to chuckle at that sentiment as I laid him on his back and lifted up his nightshirt. His member was quite ready for stimulation, having been so neglected all day. I decided to approach this session of teasing without using an object, at least for the first part. Instead I simply brought out the oil that I had used the night before. His eyes lit up when he saw it, and he fairly groaned in want as I uncorked it. I wagged my finger at him and told him not to be so eager. I then tipped the little bottle just enough so that a single drop fell onto the base of his member, hitting hard and then dripping down into the nest of dark hair. He gasped, and looked apprehensive as I lifted the bottle again. I let the drops hit anywhere from his thighs to his balls, to the middle of his cock. But finally I took aim, and let fly a giant drop, which exploded right on the head of his cock, hitting him with a wave of gentle pleasure. He gasped, arching upward, and I had to catch his hand that shot out to grip himself. I told him to wait for the best part before he rushed to the end. He hated me in that moment, I could see it in his scowl. He had no choice but to comply, however, and he was enjoying it, however badly he might want to climax. He lay back again, and spread his legs wider, inviting me to proceed. I grinned and then let the oil flow freely, coating his entire cock from base to tip, and he was sighing with the pleasure of the warming effect it had. I sat myself on the bed at this point, starling him. I pulled his legs up and over my own crossed ones so that his lap was fully exposed to me, across my own. I pushed his legs up so that they folded up near his chest, and then took aim with the oil again. This time, my target was in a completely different area. A bit of the oil had already trickled down over his entrance, but I doubted that he had been paying attention to it. His focus had been to intent on his cock that he had completely missed the pleasure that this area gave him. I decided to change that. I let a small drop of oil land directly in the center of that puckered ring of muscle. It flexed responsively, and my young master gasped loudly, wiggling on my lap and telling me it was vile. I asked him how something that felt so good could possibly be vile, and his simply bit his lip. I dripped two more drops, one after the other, and they pooled beautifully there, the muscle opening briefly to suck them inside. I loved the sight. I finally drizzled the oil all over the dip in his flesh that houses that portal. It pooled, and I smiled as I watched my young master pant and try to roll his hips. I didn't let him. I could tell that he was being teased very much by the sensation of liquid resting on his flesh, without being rubbed in. I pushed his little rump cheeks together to make the oil move, overflowing from its pool and running down his hips, staining my trousers. I cared not for this, as I would clean them later. By this point he was moaning, begging me to do something, anything. So I withdrew a basting brush from my pocket. It was a fairly wide brush, nearly three inches across with fine, soft bristles meant for coating dough with butter for baking. I decided to use them for a different purpose. I dipped the bristles into the oil running every which way on his upturned bottom, and then dipped them down into the well. The young master squirmed fiercely at the lick of those oily, soft bristles against his entrance, teasing and pleasing him in a manner he had never felt before. I doubt he had ever even though about touching this part of himself. That was what I was here for. I swirled the brush around, spreading the oil outward from his portal, like I was basting two loaves of bread, and then I set to running it up and down the incredibly sensitive strip of flesh between his portal and his testicles. He loved that, crying out my name and gripping my wrist, arching up for more, more. I gave him more, tickling his balls and then his cock, coating the oil up and down his length, then circling the tip with care. When he had had enough of that, and was begging, _begging_ me for release, I took his cock in one hand, squeezing it firmly and stroking, while at the same time brushing the oily brush back and forth over the head of his cock, as rapidly as I could. His cry was ear-piercing and joyful, filled with relief and pleasure. His seed would not mix with the oil when it shot out and landed on his thighs. He lay panting, moaning softly just for the novelty of the sound, as I kept touching him, stroking him gently up and down as he softened, but to wring every last ounce of pleasure out of him. He breathed out that this was his favorite method so far. I had to admit, it was probably my favorite too, at least...for now.


End file.
